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goldenwilliamson · 4 months

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patience | leah williamson

pairing: leah williamson x reader

a/n: finally some smut on this blog, hoorah. some short fluffy smut bc leah looked way too good in that suit and i'm craving someone to strap me down rn, so here we go...

summary: SMUT 18+, reader is waiting at home while leah is at an award show, but she is watching on tv and sees how good leah looks and gets rather impatient. when leah gets home she makes it worth the wait. top!leah and strap ons.

word count: 1.8k

You watched the TV in awe when you saw your girlfriend step into view of the camera for the first time. She'd showed off her suit to you on its hanger months ago, but seeing her wearing it was a different experience entirely. She had paired it with a tie, which was new, and it was working for you.

As soon as you caught a glimpse of her, your impatience kicked in. You sent her a text immediately telling her how good she looks and how as much as you love the suit, you can't wait to take it off her as soon as she arrives home.

It was interesting for you, being Leah's girlfriend. Even though you were a well-known footballer in your own right, Leah was England captain, and was invited to many events all over the UK for her service to the Lionesses.

While you and Leah don't keep your relationship a secret, you're certainly very private when it comes to sharing your lives together. The two of you will walk a carpet together at events which you're both invited to, but you would prefer to let Leah do her own thing at events which she has been invited to on her own. Opting out of being the plus one means that you are often left to watch on from the sidelines, which you do with no complaints.

The fans are very attentive when it comes to analysing photo dumps on yours and Leah's instagrams, looking at each post closely for signs that you two were still together. You'd been together for years now, but people were always speculating about your relationship status, especially since Leah had become so well-known after the Euros.

Tonight was one of those nights where Leah was doing her own thing, invited to attend the award night for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year. You watched on the whole night and cheered for Mary when she won, knowing she was so deserving of an award like this. By the time the night was drawing to an end, you were starting to get tired, but Leah called you from the car on her way home which energised you.

'You're still awake for me?' She asked, her voice coming through deep and rough as she murmured through the phone.

'I am now,' you say, but Leah can hear the exhaustion in your voice.

'Mm,' Leah hums, 'I'll be home soon, but if you're tired you can go to sleep baby.'

'No,' you say immediately, pushing yourself to sit upright in your bed, 'I need to see you.'

Leah chuckles, making you smile, 'Good, because since you messaged earlier I haven't stopped thinking about what I'm going to do to you when I see you.'

'God,' you groan, already feeling the wetness pooling between your legs, 'How long will you be?'

'Only about 15 minutes, be patient for me love,' she says.

'Okay, I'll see you soon,' you say before exchanging quick love you's and hanging up.

It's an agonising 15 minutes to have to wait for your girlfriend to arrive home. You decide to make do with the time and slip your baby blue coloured lingerie set on that you know Leah loves, then you crawl back into the sheets and sit on your phone as you wait.

You can hear Leah's keys in the front door and her purposeful steps as she moves through the house, quickly towards your bedroom. You move so that you're laying on your side on top of the sheets, propped up on your elbow.

When Leah steps into the doorway, meeting your eyes with a smile, you shake your head. You can't believe how sexy she looks, how assertive and dominant this suit makes her appear. Even though you both have a dominant side, you can already sense that tonight you will do whatever Leah asks you to.

She has you stepping out of bed and reaching for her the second she enters the room.

'Sorry to keep you waiting,' Leah says quickly before you pull her close by the knot of her tie and press your lips against hers. She responds right away, holding you close by the back of your head and letting her other hand fall firmly on your waist, pushing you back towards the bed.

When the back of your legs hit the mattress you sit down, spreading your legs wide so Leah can stand between them. Your fingers find the buttons of her blazer, unbuttoning it. Leah shrugs it off her shoulders and lets the fabric fall to the floor.

You take in the sight before you, just Leah in some trousers, a white button up, and a tie.

'God, you look so good Lee,' you tell her, kissing her fabric covered stomach.

'Do you like the tie?' She asks, and you immediately take it with both hands, running it through your fingers.

'I love it. It's good for this,' you tug on it lightly, bringing Leah's face down towards you. She takes the opportunity to plant kisses down the side of your neck, and across your shoulder.

While Leah is still standing, you reach for her waistband, unbuttoning her trousers so they also fall to the floor, allowing her to step out of them. She's left in her top and tie as you wriggle back on the mattress, giving Leah room to join you on the bed.

However, instead of following you, Leah makes a move toward your wardrobe on the other side of the room.

'Where you going?' You ask, already knowing the answer.

'Gonna get something,' Leah says simply, and you know that she is going to get one of your toys out of the dresser.

'What are you thinking?' You ask curiously, but Leah doesn't respond. You just lay back on the mattress as you listen to her rifling through the drawer to find what she's looking for.

When you hear her moving around some more, you look up and see she is pulling on her strap. She has also removed the shirt and tie so she is just standing there wearing nothing but her bra and the strap. The air feels thick and your heart beats loudly in your ears. You can't think of much else at this stage besides how much you want to have Leah inside of you.

'Is this what you want darling?' She asks, sliding her hand up and down the length of the dildo as she steps closer to the bed.

You nod like an idiot, 'Yes.'

While a devilish smirk, she crawls up the mattress until she's hovering over you, leaning down to kiss you again. You hold onto her lower back, pulling her lower body close to you as you roll your hips upwards, begging for contact.

Leah leans close to your ear, biting down lightly on your earlobe before whispering, 'You want me to fuck you then?'

'God, please, yes,' you say, grabbing at the dildo and trying to steer it in the right direction.

'Take these off first,' Leah pulls back, releasing your grip and moving to slip your underwear down your legs.

When she moves closer again she dives her head down between your legs, kissing you around your entrance, and then finally pressing one kiss firmly against your clit, making you moan.

'Need you,' you groan.

'Mm,' Leah moans at the sound of your desperation, 'You've been such a good patient girl, waiting all night for me.'

As she says this, she runs the tip of the dick through your folds, listening to how wet you are.

'Too long,' you say, not wanting to wait a moment longer.

'I know, baby, but I'm here now,' she says, as she begins to press down into you.

As Leah rolls her hips deeper, your eyes squeeze shut while your mouth falls open, moaning in pleasure.

'Look at me,' she tells you, and you open your eyes to see her focused face.

You reach your hand up to where her eyebrows are firmly drawn together, and you run your thumb gently over the creases between her brow, giving her permission to relax into the moment.

'Serious face,' you say affectionately.

'Shhh,' she quiets your teasing with a kiss, moving her lips against yours rhythmically as she begins to slowly thrust into you.

Moans and words of affirmation roll off your tongue, and Leah relishes in the sound, wanting nothing more than to make you come.

She adopts the perfect pace and finds the right spot with ease, each thrust making you slip closer to your orgasm.

'You're such a good girl, taking it so well,' Leah praises you, turning you on even more.

'Feels so good,' you say, struggling to find any other words to say.

Leah continues her movements, not stopping for a second. Her eyes are trained on you, watching how you get lost in the feeling of pleasure taking over your entire body.

'Slow down,' you ask, knowing that some long, deep thrusts will get you to the edge.

Leah does as you ask, re-positioning herself so her forearm is digging into the mattress, propping her up. She uses her other arm to wrap around your thigh and open your legs wider, allowing her to sink deeper into you.

'Fuck!' You moan loudly.

'Are you going to come for me like this?' Leah asks.

'Yes,' you say, your head rolling back on the pillow as your hands grip tightly around Leah's torso, assisting her movement.

'My pretty girl, want to watch how you come on my cock,' Leah says, her words driving you closer to your high.

'Lee,' you moan, voice breathy, 'I'm so close.'

'Good girl, come for me now darling,' Leah says, and this time her words tip you over the edge.

Your back arches and the waves of pleasure roll over you as Leah continues to gently thrust into you, letting you ride out your full orgasm.

'Oh my god,' you sigh, opening your eyes to see Leah watching you with pure adoration. Slowly once your breathing has settled, she pulls out of you and sits back, taking the strap off her legs and discarding it to the floor.

'You're amazing,' you tell her, as she moves to lay herself down next to you, wrapping her arms around you and guiding your head to rest on her chest.

'I'm glad you think so,' she says, making you smile, pulling you slightly out of your dazed demeanour.

You exhale contentedly as Leah runs her hand up and down your arm thats slung over her body.

'So tired,' you say sleepily, your eyelids heavy.

'I bet you are,' she smiles proudly, 'You can go to sleep now baby.'

'Thanks for the good sex,' you say, your exhausted post-orgasm brain hardly even thinking through what you're saying, making Leah giggle.

She kisses your forehead and moves herself into a more comfortable position before she assures you, 'Anytime'.

#leah williamson #lionesses #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso #arsenal women #lionesses x reader #awfc #woso community #leah williamson smut

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fairyhaos · 6 months

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how seventeen react to their s/o's grandma hobbies

requested by anon!

masterlist

seungcheol

my man goes bird watching with you. does he get a little embarrassed when you deck out in full bird-watching gear and peer through your binoculars at the trees while making fascinated noises? yeah, but he also finds it rather endearing. knows nothing about birds, and doesn't even try learning bc he knows he'll be hopeless at it anyway, so he's sitting next to you for hours with no clue what's going on. but at the end of it, you're packing up with a bright beam on your face, delighted that cheol came with you, and honestly it makes it all so, so worth it

jeonghan

see, here's the thing. he's not allowed to tease you for your countless puzzles, and you're not allowed to tease him for his countless lego sets. it's a mutual agreement. sometimes, you'll have days where you both sit down with your respective crafts, poring over them individually, sometimes with music on, often in silence. and then jeonghan will bring up some interesting thing he heard the other day, and the both of you will start gossiping like old ladies (or teenage girls?) the entire time, and honestly, those times are the highlights of your day

joshua

he's banned from using your yarn or your knitting needles for anything ever, because one time he somehow stabbed your couch cushions and shredded them to bits. (you're still now sure how that happened. he won't tell you.) but sometimes, he'll see you knitting in bed and smile, before slipping off somewhere and returning with his guitar, and those are the softest nights that remain ingrained in your memory, where you knit stupidly tiny socks for joshua and he serenades you with 'sunday morning' on loop

junhui

honestly, he's just utterly fascinated. several of your cross-stitching projects are stored in the fancy glass cabinet in your living room, and sometimes you'll catch him staring at them when he thinks you're in your room, wide-eyed in wonder. he saw you making all of these pieces, saw you make every single one of those stitches, but he's still so amazed at how beautiful the end product is. you gifted him an intricate piece of a moon and flowers for his birthday, and he still calls it the most precious thing he owns

hoshi

this man takes your collection of tiny european spoons very seriously. seungkwan teases him, saying that you've turned him into a grandma too, but he ignores the younger guy because your spoons are important to you, so they're important to him too. polishes them for you when you're away. asks for updates on your spoons while he's away on tour. helps name each and every spoon, and when he comes back from going abroad, he greets you with a grin and a kiss and a new spoon for your collection

wonwoo

??? he's so confused bc your gardening hobby does Not sound very grandma-ish to him, no matter what you say. you were initially rather awkward, very shy when telling him that you really loved gardening, but he supports u and thinks that it's such a nice hobby. wonwoo has very un-green fingers, so he always watches you tend to your garden from a good few feet away, but he can't help but smile at how earnestly you work, beaming so brightly the entire time and it's so obvious how much you love gardening

woozi

he never sees you do sudokus unless you're sitting on the couch in his studio, biting your nail and waiting for him to finish up so you can go home together. he just thinks it's really sweet, actually, and the idea of you doing the sudoku while he's agonising over his latest composition is something that he can't think of for too long because then he gets distracted by how adorable he thinks that is. you've fallen asleep over your sudoku too many times to count, and when you wake up, woozi feigns innocence to how your latest grid has suddenly magically filled itself

minghao

drinking tea isn't a fucking grandma hobby, kwon soonyoung, it's called being educated. both of you like drinking tea, going through tea ceremonies when you're both exhausted, taste testing different types of tea and commenting on the different notes and fragrances you can taste from them. he met you while on a tea tour around asia, and since then, the two of you just clicked so well, and he loves sipping sakura tea in the evenings and reminiscing on your first meeting, all those years ago

mingyu

fucking!! loves!! everything you knit for him!! the socks you knitted for him are his fluffiest sleeping socks. he Only wears the scarf you knitted for him during the winter months. one time, you gifted him a knitted sweater for his birthday and it instantly became his statement piece that he wore everywhere until it finally grew too threadbare and you had to make him a new one. the gentle clacking of your knitting needles on a saturday evening is the most relaxing sound in the world, and he's fallen asleep on your shoulder while you knit countless times

dokyeom

he has, admittedly, fallen asleep more than a handful of times while sitting next to you on the sofa as you indulge in your guilty pleasure: tv shows on antiques. he understands that it's something you find very fascinating and very interesting, but ten minutes in his eyes are getting droopy but nonono baby he's not falling asleep! he's just gonna… rest… his eyes… but then he eventually ends up dozing on your shoulder. he likes listening to you talk about your favourite episodes, though, the fondness colouring his lips as you gesture animatedly, eyes bright

seungkwan

the highlight of his sunday morning is sitting at the table with two cups of coffee ready, twiddling his thumbs and staring out of the window, waiting for you to burst in through the front door, coming back from your daily walk with the newspaper in your hands and slamming the crossword down in front of him. he loves poring over them with you, and sure, maybe he teases you about this very grandma-like hobby, but you tease him back because he's literally here doing them with you, isn't he?

vernon

supports you in your dream to own all of the most grandma-style cardigans in the entire world. that's it. he has no other opinion. he's pretty chill with it, and don't listen to what minghao says,babe, 'cause he personally thinks that the purple and orange zigzag cardigan with aquamarine dots is the most stylish cardigan of your entire collection. sometimes unironically steals your cardigans to wear himself, because they're all so soft and so comfy and they smell like you so when he's at work, he can feel like you're there with him too <3

chan

you swear, your tomato plants love your boyfriend more than they love you, their actual owner. ever since you admitted to your boyfriend that you have a part of an allotment where you grow various fruits and veg, he's come to visit your babies and honestly, you've never seen your tomatoes flourishing as much as they are right now. does he think you're like an elderly person for tending so solemnly to some plants? yeah. but he can't exactly talk, because he loves your plants, and you two literally have skits where you pretend to be an elderly couple literally every day, so it's nothing out of the ordinary at all

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river-of-wine · 3 months

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I find Miss Grimshaw’s death to be one of the most interesting out of the characters that die in RDR2 because there is just so much going on with it. She begins chapter six shooting an innocent woman, doing what she believes is the right thing as the arbiter of justice she is described as. She shoots an innocent woman through the stomach for a perceived betrayal, and in doing so, she damns herself. Grimshaw ends the chapter being shot through the stomach by Micah, by the real traitor that she failed to recognise, for what was, in Dutch’s eyes, her own perceived betrayal. Molly confessed to ratting on the gang, something that she didn’t do but knew the consequences of, and Grimshaw, as her final action of the game, turns on Dutch, the man she has been loyal to for so many years, on the side of John and Arthur. Grimshaw’s death comes at such an interesting part in the story, such a climactic moment, and yet it is almost entirely unnoticed by everybody around her. In this huge moment, this standoff between what remains of the gang, the murder of one of its longest standing members just kind of happens, and then the standoff continues as Dutch gives a speech over the dying, agonised screams of a woman who has spent so many years loyally at his side, who has taken her first real stand against him, who has been murdered, who is now a traitor and not worth acknowledging. Grimshaw dies in pain, perhaps the most that we hear from a gang member’s death that we actually witness, though I’m sure Kieran’s torture at the hands of the O’Driscolls was even less pleasant. Grimshaw’s death is the death of what may have still remained of the gang, the security within it that she helped to provide, and her death is the justice that she failed to correctly serve returning to her, her failure to actually kill the traitor then killing her. She is shot through the stomach and dies in pain and the man she had been so loyal to simply does not care

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #I do not like grimshaw at all but she is one of the most interesting characters in the whole game to me #I think about her and her parallels with the other women a lot #like the fact that she gets shot in the stomach and the fact that it’s micah who does it #and also on the topic of molly parallels #did her body burn? she isn’t there when you go back for the money in beaver hollow which is the only cutscene where arthur mentions her #charles says he buried her but how much did he bury? how much of her was left?#anyway yeah there’s some analysis of a character I don’t like but who fascinates me #girls against grimshaw

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thot-writes · 8 months

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MORE WEREWOLF X VAMPIRE FICS!! *slams fists on the table* I DEMAND MORE WEREWOLF X VAMPIRE FICS!!!!

how astarion would treat his werewolf gf (SFW);

Astarion is not as surprised as one might’ve expected him to be. he’s likely had a lot of experience with lycanthropes of all kinds through Cazador (that bitch)

when you’re revealed to be a werewolf, the cogs in his mind are already turning for suggestive jokes he can make about it

you actually hear him (thanks to your superior hearing) in front of his tent mumbling them to himself as he workshops them

“‘Every good dog deserves a bone…’ hm… no, that sounds too seedy. Maybe… ‘if you’re a good little pup I’ll give you a… treat’? Gods, why is this so much harder than I thought?”

you have to cover your mouth to stop your hideous snickering. hearing his process on his meticulously crafted persona is simply too cute

you always end up turning the lines back onto him anyways. after all, if you’re the dog but he’s the one on all fours and begging, what does that make him?

astarion is a little disappointed that you can never wear silver, and he tells you so. it burns you to the touch, but also it would look so good on your gorgeous skin— isn’t a little bit of pain worth it for the fashion?

you throw garlic cloves at him for suggesting it. luckily for him the tadpole negates what damage that would normally do.

loves the bloodthirst. he’ll cheer you on when you’re getting worked up & rabid during battles

occasionally you’ll have bouts where all you crave is extreme violence. it’s quite manageable, they normally only happen when a full moon is close or when you’re in the middle of a particularly nasty fight.

one time, you tackled a man who’d targeted astarion and bit half his face off. you don’t even know why you did it, it just felt like the right thing to do at the time— and your adrenaline was running too fast for you to stop and think for a second

if astarion’s heart was still beating, he was sure it would’ve fluttered at that moment. seeing you defend him with such aggression was so… romantic

he had to resist the urge to pull you in for a kiss. at least while you still had the man’s face-skin in your mouth (did you eat it or spit it out?)

as your relationship shifts less from lust and more to love, he starts to express concerns over the darker parts of your curse.

astarion knows that while lycanthropy has a cure they’re often hard to find— and you’ve little interest in one at this point anyway. but doesn’t mean that doesn’t mean he can’t help you in other ways

when a full moon is coming and a horrific, agonising transformation is upon you, astarion stays by your side and tries to alleviate the pain by showing you have his support

after attempts of trying stronger and stronger pain-killing elixirs failed to make much of a difference, he decided that perhaps just being there with you was the better option

he’s by your side and resting your head on his lap, stroking your hair and offering the occasional word of encouragement

when it’s time to transform you get magically restrained and even still, he remains. sometimes he passes the hours with reading or embroidery, sometimes he tries to talk with you to see if you’re still in there

he hopes by doing this that you’ll learn to retain some control over yourself and you won’t need to be restrained each full moon. and it’s kind of working! once, he managed to calm you down enough to give you a little pat on the head— and that’s enough proof for him that you can best the beast

you’re not entirely sure if you believe him when he tells you that though

and as if astarion needed yet another reason to hate the gur, now he has one.

as a monster, they’ll be just as likely to hunt you. he won’t let them.

even if you have no strong feelings for the gur, astarion is brimming with more than enough spite and vitriol for both of you.

honestly, being a werewolf has made you two even closer than before. you can relate on certain issues now— you’re both bloodthirsty monsters, capable of losing all sense of control and reason, and when night falls is when the people of faerun should be the most fearful— for the night is your personal hunting ground.

astarion is very supportive of a lycanthrope partner (much like he is with a durge one) and will not judge you for it. when your control lapses, he reins you in, when you’re dealing with the pain of a pre and post-transformation, he helps you through it.

on the surface, you’re two fearsome, monstrous beasts that would send an average person running— but beneath, you’re two people madly in love, trying to temper the negative effects of your respective curses. for each other.

#YES IM A FAN OF WEREWOLF/VAMPIRE PAIRINGS WHYYYY DO U ASK #I CANT HELP IT!!! THEYRE SO CUTE!!#my posts #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate iii tav #baldurs gate x reader #reader insert #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #fluff #astarion headcanons #werewolf x vampire #vampire x werewolf #gender neutral reader #astarion #astarion ancunin

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theonewiththefanfics · 5 months

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Dare to Hope, Dare to Dream (Part 2/?)

Synopsys: For three years now, Astarion and his love have been relegated to living in the shadows as he lost his ability to walk in the sun. But one day hope is reignited, and the vampire can't help but reminisce how he got where he is now.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: violence, abuse, talks of SA, character death, SMUT (if there is anything else that should be tagged, please do let me know)

Word count: 5830

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Part 1

The composing of the letter was quick work, as excitement thrummed through their veins, but every passing day diminished the accumulating hope.

It was agonising, waiting for Gale to respond. Where usually Astarion’s mind was preoccupied with Y/N, now it was occupied by that damned tome and that damned fucking page he couldn’t read.

There was a huge possibility it could be nothing but a simple song or a poem. It could be a curse for all he knew, but something in his still heart screamed it could be the thing that set him free from living in eternal darkness and making his love live like that too.

He’d give anything, pay any price for Y/N to be able to walk in the sun again, and if his hand was in hers, wrapped around her waist or tucked against his chest as they enjoyed the wonders of the world in colour, not the perpetual greys of night, he would beg on his knees if he had to.

His love didn’t seem to be fairing any better. She was fidgety all the time, where she used to be able to sit and watch Astarion patching up a shirt of hers or adding gorgeous swirls of gold and silver, now she organised and cleaned his whole tailoring room over and over again. Y/N cooked almost obsessively, way too much food for just one of them to eat, and it almost drove him mad how restless she’d become during sleep as well.

Worry ate at him that Y/N hadn’t gotten proper rest in days, all because of that damned book. Would it be worth it? Would her losing sleep be worth it in the end? Nothing that hurt her was, not in Astarion’s mind, but whenever he asked her to leave something be, said that he’d pick it up, she’d simply shrug and say, “No time like the present.”

Taking into account his feedings as well, his heart twisted at the thought that all of this was weighing on her shoulders, but luckily at least some of the burden of wait was lifted when Gale’s answer came.

To their relief, the wizard gave them good news and apologies, as he’d travelled beyond the Sword Coast with his grandfather, but would be taking the first available ship to Baldur’s Gate. It would take at least three weeks of travelling, but he would waste no time beyond that and go straight to their home, and that left the two anxious lovers to occupy their time however they could.

Y/N had already rearranged the whole library twice by then, half in search of figuring out where this mysterious book had come from, half in absolute boredom, while Astarion had taken to sowing and stitching dresses and tunics and shirts and trousers and even a gorgeous set if not a scandalous one of lingerie for Y/N (which he had promptly ripped to shreds that same morning she’d donned it to go to bed).

She’d admonished him through a desperate moan, as his tongue had skimmed against her neck, lace scraps still around her ribs and hips, nothing more left of the intricate design he’d so patiently made. Not that it’d covered much in the first place.

“I’ll make you hundreds more just to rip all of it off again,” Astarion groaned as her hips ground up against him, delicious friction causing him to respond in kind.

“But it was so beautiful!” Y/N whined when Astarion took her wrists in one of his hands and held them in a tight grip above their heads.

“Nothing is as beautiful as you completely bare and uncovered for me. So… delectable…”

Let’s just say neither of them could get out of bed after the sun had set, as their legs wobbled at the lightest touch to the ground, leading them to another day of sleeping in, and a night of passionate debauchery.

However, as much as Astarion wished to stay like that with Y/N, both of them naked and twined in bed, other things had to be done around the house, and at that moment, he’d asked Y/N to model a dress for her.

He didn’t dare say the cut was based on a sketch hidden deep in his drawers, and originally it was made of white lace with an accompanying veil, not the jade colour he’d cut it in now.

“Do you think we’re harbouring false hope?” she asked, colour-coding his threads and placing the box neatly back on the table after Astarion allowed her to redress and was happy with how the skirt flew around her hips.

“In what way, my dear?”

“I just,” Y/N huffed, sitting down on the arm of the chair next to him, watching how his quick fingers stilled their needlework so as to not poke her accidentally. “I don’t want you to be disappointed if this… if this isn’t what we think it is. I know how much you miss the sun.” Y/N gently threaded her fingers through his moon-white locks. “I know how guilty you feel for me having to forego it. You don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted whatever was on Astarion’s tongue. “I can see it on your face.”

He looked down at the green gown’s hem he was embellishing. He’d tried so hard to hide the guilt seeping through his veins. He didn’t want her to know that; he already burdened her life as is.

“I can’t say it wouldn’t hurt if what we hope doesn’t come true.” Astarion put the needle and dress on the table, turning to Y/N and pulling her into his lap. “I wish I could give you the world, but I can barely give you half… if even that much. You deserve so much more than what you’ve deemed enough. I just want to… give you more…”

“My Star, please don’t even think you’re not enough for me.” Y/N brushed a pale curl behind his ear.

He gave her a rueful smile. “A little mind-reader you are, aren’t you?”

She simply shrugged, melting against his chest, his undead heart beating just a tad stronger at how much comfort she got from simply being held by him. “It’s not so hard nowadays when you’ve become an open book to me.”

Astarion had nothing to respond to that because he knew he had, at least with Y/N. He might not voice it out loud, but his heart was open. Yes, fear still lingered in bleeding gashes around the edges, but he knew, she’d always be there to dab at the pained spots and heal them with a kiss.

“I’m not leaving,” she mumbled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not now, not ever. Not when the sun sets or rises. An army would have to come in and tie me up before dragging me away from you. And even then, I’d be kicking and screaming, biting my way out to get home.”

Astarion’s breath stuttered, but he didn’t mention what the words of her referring to him as her home did to him. “I just want if only a minute to stand in the sun with you. If that’s all I’m given for the rest of eternity, it’s what I’ll take. Just a moment with you in the sun.”

Y/N took his chin between her thumb and pointer finger, tilting his head up so their eyes could meet – his scarlet ones brimming with unshed tears, her own Y/E/C ones filled with nothing but sure-fire determination. “Whatever is in that book, spell or no, we’ll figure it out. But one day, I know, you will be able to walk in the sun again. I’ll make sure of it. Even if I have to raise all nine hells, I’ll find a way.”

“I know you will.” Astraion sighed, letting the tears roll down his cheeks. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Y/N’s laughter was the most gorgeous symphony to his ears. She gave a light kiss to the very tip of his right one, a shiver of pleasure rushing down his spine. “We’ll figure it out, my Star.”

That morning, just a couple of hours after their conversation, as Y/N was closing all the shutters to their home so as to not let in the sun of the new day, Astarion slid his palm into hers, tugging her to their bed while kissing every inch of her skin he could get to.

He needed to be close to her, he needed to sink into her and fuse together, become as close to one body as possible, otherwise, it was like he was going to combust from the love unless he could bathe her in it.

“I need you,” Astarion whispered against her cheek, as Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You have me,” she responded in kind. “All of me is yours if you want it.”

A shudder went through his body as he swiftly, but tenderly rid both of them of their clothes, gentle hands running over Y/N’s hips and sides, as she lightly squirmed away from him when he playfully dug his fingers against her ribs, before trailing their way to her stomach, where a jagged scar stood slightly raised against the rest of her body.

“And I’m yours. Body and soul,” Astarion said, still looking at that scar while he slowly slipped his frame to rest atop, his cock sliding through her already slick folds, lightly nudging his tip against her clit in a teasing manner.

“Mine,” Y/N sighed out dreamily, as he filled her, her legs locking around his hips, ankles crossed over the small of his back to pull him deeper until their hips rested flush against one another.

A slight whimper escaped him as he affirmed. “Yours… just yours, my love.”

He’d never thought that such a word as “mine” would bring him such feelings of love and adoration.

Astarion had always wanted to belong. He’d always wanted a family, friends or a true lover to build his life with, but for a horribly long time, all because of Cazador, that wish was locked away in a tomb just like him. And after a while of pain and misery, he just gave up on the idea as a whole. Belonging to someone became a despised thing, a notion he had no free will. He was a pet, a thing to be had and done with as his master pleased.

But then that Nautiloid ship happened, and he gained allies. Who morphed into friends, and then Y/N, the oddest one of their group, became so much more than that.

That night when he’d offered himself to her, he’d been ready to use his body as coin, as he’d been taught, if it granted him food, shelter and protection. Astarion was used to whoring himself out, but that wouldn’t be the worst he’d done. At least Y/N was nice to look at. She included him in conversations during the day and asked for his opinion. It would most certainly be lovelier than the other times.

Yet she’d surprised him and said no. She still offered him all the things he asked for, even her neck if he needed to feed, but Y/N was adamant she would not take sex as payment for such things.

Astarion took a surprised step back. “Am I – do I not appeal to you?”

Why did it sting? Why did the thought of the answer being “yes” hurt so much?

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s just that you don’t have to ask for those things and sleep with me as payment.”

“Oh.” That stumped him truly. His mind reeled at her words. “Then what is it that you want?” A cheeky comment was right there for him to spit out, but he refrained.

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe patch a hole in a shirt, if it gets too ruined? Help me carry part of my loot if it gets too heavy? We’re friends, or at least good travel companions, I’d like to think.”

That moment had changed everything for Astarion. It had changed how he looked at himself and what he could ask of the world. She’d helped him learn he could say no.

When Y/N had been close to decapitating that vile Drow Araj after she looked at him like he was a puppet for Y/N to use, Astarion had confessed that night – his whole plan of seducing her, securing his safety and getting in her good graces so he always had someone to have his back if suddenly the rest of their party decided to turn against him.

The kiss they’d shared, initiated by Astarion himself, felt like the first kiss of his life. He was jittering like a youth as Y/N’s lips pressed to his. And for the first time in ages, he thought maybe he had someone, to be with not belong to.

When she cried out in ecstasy as Astarion started to move, slowly dragging his hips back and forth, allowing her to feel every ridge and dip and immersing himself in the warm, wet feeling surrounding him, his thoughts couldn’t help but wander to that moment in the Szarr Palace when Y/N had cried in pain instead as Cazador’s knife dug deep into her gut.

She’d gone in for an attack in an attempt at freeing Astarion from the grasp of the Ascension ritual, and she had almost gotten Cazador, had the vampire not moved in the last second, twisting away from her sword and delivering the critical hit himself.

Someone screamed so loud, the sound verged on popping Astarion’s eardrums. It was only when his throat went raw he realised it was him screaming.

Cazador didn’t even bother to pull the knife out, letting Y/N drop to the ground in a heap, her blood trickling out of her wound and pooling around her body, staining the tiles a deep red.

Astarion wanted to retch at the sight.

“Pathetic,” Cazador spat. “Both of you.”

Nothing but white-hot rage coursed through Astarion’s veins as he watched his master walk around Y/N’s crumpled form, nudging her with his foot as if she were nothing more than a worm.

“I cannot deny,” Cazador mussed. “For a brief second, I did consider turning her into a new addition to our family. It would have been fitting – my prodigal son, returning and bringing the last piece I need. A fitting punishment, for your disobedience, Astarion, wouldn’t you agree? You’ve broken pretty much all of my rules, and someone has to pay.”

Cazador turned his back on Y/N, obscuring Astarion's view of her. “And how poetic would have it been, had it been you draining her, taking every last drop of her blood, only for me to sire. I think I would have enjoyed your screaming immensely, but no matter. It would only be a waste of time.” The vampire master smirked at a struggling Astarion. “Tell me – was her blood sweet? It smells absolutely delectable. Maybe I should have a little taste.”

“Fuck you!” Astarion roared. “Damn you to all nine hells!”

Cazador only chuckled. “Maybe a couple of decades in that tomb of yours will do you good. Remind you of manners. Or maybe I will let Godey -,” but he didn’t manage to finish whatever horrors he was already painting in his mind as he choked on the words.

The vampire’s dark brows furrowed as he slowly glanced down and saw a blade protruding from his stomach, the hilt buried deep against his spine.

Surprise, anger and confusion all flashed across the immortal’s face as Y/N yanked the dagger out. Cazador slowly turned and found Y/N standing before him, a hand clutching against her stomach.

“That,” she gasped. “Is for what you did to me and this,” she thrust her hand again, this time letting the blade go clean through Cazador’s neck, “is for what you did to Astarion.”

She left the blade there, taking a few steps back on swaying feet, but it was enough of a distraction to break Cazador’s concentration and Astarion dropped free.

He was on his feet in an instant, pulling the knife Y/N had plunged back out and then smashing it deep into Cazador’s gut over and over and over again until there was nothing left of him but a mangled, almost cut-in-two, corpse.

Astarion dropped to his knees, chest heaving with exertion, his whole body covered in blood, all of it Cazador’s. Who was dead.

Cazador was dead.

His master, his torturer, the one who robbed him of his life and choices was finally gone.

Relief rolled through him like a tidal wave, his body slowly but surely wracked by sobs as catharsis set in. Two hundred years of pain and misery, two hundred years of not owning his body or mind, and now he was suddenly free.

He didn’t know how to process such a realisation. It seemed almost easier to live his life in fear, to constantly look over his shoulder and go to bed with the thought his miracle of a chance at life could be taken away at any moment. In that way, he didn’t have to create friendships or relationships, he didn’t need to get close to anyone and risk losing them. He could just always keep peeking through the tiny slit from the boarded-up window, instead of poking his head through the crack in the door.

So what was he to do now, when that door had been blasted wide open?

“Y/N,” Astarion whispered her name, his head snapping up and scanning the hall, quickly landing on her body.

She’d collapsed about fifteen feet away from Cazador, but it took him less than five seconds to be by her side. With trembling hands, he took her by the shoulder and turned her on her back, so he could see her face.

A sob raked through him. “Please,” Astarion begged, pulling her head to rest on his thighs. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Star,” his name was a moan of pain from Y/N’s lips. And he hated it.

It was supposed to be a sigh of pleasure as his tongue lapped against her sweetest spot, a groan of delight when he sank into her, his hands holding hers, lips pressed together in a reassuring kiss. It was supposed to be a laugh between hiccups as he joked and snarked. It was supposed to be anything but this.

Her body was covered in so much blood, and had it been Cazador’s he would have been fine, but he knew it wasn’t. It was her own, that sweet and tantalizing scent of it running up his nose. Usually, the tiniest drop of it, could turn him feral, but all it did now was make bile rise in his throat as more and more of it coated his hands and the floor around them.

“I’ll complete the ritual,” he choked, brushing a strand of matted-down hair away from Y/N’s face. “And then I’ll save you.”

“Don’t,” she gasped, begging him. “Please don’t.”

“I can’t let you die,” he could barely manage the words, but she still heard them and shook her head.

“And I will not let you kill innocents just to save my life.” Y/N clutched at his arm as tightly as she could with all her remaining strength that was weaning with every passing second. “If you do this, I will never forgive you. You’ll become just like Cazador. And I know you are so – so much more than that. Than him. Don’t let Cazador win. You – you fought so hard,” she sobbed out, half at the implication of what he’d overcome, half at Astarion pressing down on her wound as he attempted to staunch the bleeding, but to no avail. “Don’t throw all of it away. Not for this.”

Astarion swivelled his head around desperately as if a response on what to do could be found in the room, yet nothing but Cazador’s mangled body and the pool of blood it’d created answered.

“Please,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing his forehead to Y/N’s and once again repeated. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” her response was barely a puff of air. “I will always be right here with you, Star. To the very end.”

Y/N placed her palm right where his undead heart broke into pieces, and when she closed her eyes, the only sound left was the echoes of his screams.

He might’ve been screaming for ages, Astarion didn’t know nor did he care. All he knew was that his love, his sun, his reason for living was gone.

The sound of the door being broken down invaded his mind, as many pairs of footsteps entered, but Astarion paid no mind to his friends. They could all go to the nine hells with Cazador for his sake, as long as he got to stay with Y/N.

He heard Karlach, the gentle giant of their group gasp out Y/N's name, and even Lae’Zel’s hiss of surprise was unmistakable, the scene before them rendering the rest speechless.

“She almost looks like she’s sleeping,” Astarion muttered, tracing his knuckles against Y/N’s cold skin. So close to his own temperature he didn’t feel the difference. A tear splashed against her cheek, rolling down her temple and disappearing into her hairline.

“Astarion, Shadowheart can help,” Wyll said, stepping closer, but the pale elf just shook his head.

“No,” he muttered, tracing her unmoving features with his thumb. “No one will hurt her. Not anymore.”

“Astarion, she won’t hurt Y/N,” Gale piped up. “We can bring her back.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t care what they were saying. No one else would ever touch her. No one would ever dare hurt her again. He’d set the world on fire if they so much as touched a hair on her head.

His friends however had different ideas. With apologies on their lips, they grabbed him, ripping him away from Y/N, her body unceremoniously dropping to the ground from where her head had been resting against his thighs.

“I’ll kill all of you!” Astarion screamed, trying to bite and scratch as he was pulled further and further away from Y/N. “Some friends you are!”

It took Karalch physically ripping him away from Y/N’s dead body, Lae’Zel and Wyll helping her pin him to the ground as Shadowheart and Gale crouched beside his love, while Astarion trashed against their hold.

“He took her,” Astarion wailed and roared, his pain echoing in the chamber around them. “He took her!"

There was no need for elaboration. Not even Lae’Zel, always so quick to show her disdain against emotion, spoke. Instead, she moved a bit to the side, so Astarion could at least be granted the gift of seeing Y/N’s face as Shadowheart and Gale hovered over her dead body.

“He killed her, and I could do nothing about it,” Astarion whimpered, eyes focused on the serene look his lover had in death. He only hoped she felt at peace wherever she was.

A pale blue light glowed from Shadowheart’s hands, Gale’s power feeding hers.

“It won’t work.” He let the tears fall freely from his eyes. “She’s gone.”

It was a resigned statement from someone who was completely exhausted. He’d prepared for never leaving the Szarr palace, for dying, if he had to, but he’d never prepared himself for losing Y/N. She had become such a staple, such a sure thing in his life, he no longer could imagine how a single day without her smile could go. But now she was gone and –

His brows furrowed. It had to be a trick of his mind, a hallucination his grief-stricken heart was conjuring up, but there it was – the sweetest sound in the world he never thought to hear again – Y/N’s heartbeat.

A ragged intake of breath shattered through the hall, and he watched as her lashes fluttered. Her lungs stuttered as if they needed a minute to reconnect with her brain before they levelled out and remembered how to breathe.

Karalch, Wyll and Lae’Zel released their hold, and Astarion slowly sat up on his forearms. When Y/N took in her first full steady breath, Shadowheart slumped over, Gale already having expected it, dropping into a crouch and allowing her to lean on his side.

He couldn’t believe it. Y/N had died in his arms, he’d watched her life’s blood seep across his hands, and yet there she was – on the ground, her heart beating and lungs dragging in short breaths, barely but still.

“She needs rest,” Shadowheart said, running a soothing hand down her friend’s cheek. “As do I.”

“Let’s get back to the inn.” Wyll approached and helped the exhausted cleric, as he wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her up, without much of a fuss. Lae’Zel and Gale hovered over Y/N until Astarion was capable of getting to his feet, knees trembling like a fawn's. Whether they were there for him or her, Astarion didn’t know but appreciated nonetheless.

“Would you like me to carry her?” Gale offered, a gentle look on his face, nothing but concern evident, but Astarion shook his head.

“I’ll do it.” His voice was raw from the screaming and crying, but he didn’t care to clear it as he gently lifted her up.

Y/N’s head lolled to rest against his chest as if on instinct and he had to push down a sob as he felt her warm, alive body curl into his own, like so many times before now.

Karlach laid a leather jacket across Astarion’s naked shoulders, but all he could concentrate on were the shallow breaths entering Y/N’s lungs, her slow but steadily beating heart and the way her fingers curled against where his still one rested.

The whole trek back to the lodgings they’d procured previously, Astarion was numb, completely and utterly numb save for the incessant need to check if Y/N was breathing. He was struggling to figure out his emotions.

As he laid her down in the bed, Karlach lighted a fire and Gale promised to bring a cloth and some warm water for Astarion to clean Y/N up, he couldn’t help but grieve Cazador.

He didn’t stray from his love’s bedside not even for a second, keeping vigil day and night, but most importantly watching her chest rise and fall with deep, even breaths, yet some part of him mourned his master as well.

Three days after the events of the Szarr Palace, Astarion had reluctantly agreed to have a quick wash while Karlach watched over Y/N. He regretted that decision more than anything because sometime during the ten minutes he allowed himself to get rid of the crusted blood, she had awoken.

When he re-entered the bedroom, Astarion almost fainted at the sight of her beautiful Y/E/C eyes boring into his scarlet ones.

“Hello, Star,” she croaked through a smile, and he almost crumbled then and there by the doorway, had it not been for the tight grip on the knob.

Karlach made a quick exit, but not before placing a warm palm against his shoulder, giving him a slight nudge in Y/N’s direction, though he didn’t need one. It was like she had a magical pull, making him stumble across the room before his knees gave out with a hard thud and his hand desperately sought out Y/N’s. When their fingers entwined in a tight hold, he swore to himself to never let go of her again.

“I thought I lost you,” his voice broke. “I – I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” her own tone was quiet, barely a whisper. “But I couldn’t just let him hurt you more.”

“I know. I know you… I just…” He huffed, brows furrowing as he searched for the correct words. “I thought when I got my freedom back, you would be there by my side, but instead you were the cost of it.” Astarion choked on the word “cost”. “But at the same time, I couldn’t help but mourn the loss of him.” He didn’t say his name, he’d decided Cazador wasn’t worth having the honour of a name spoken aloud.

“And it felt disgusting. He hurt you. He took you from me, and yet… I didn’t even have him left after your… your… heart stopped,” Astarion took a shaky intake of breath. “I was completely and utterly alone. When Shadowheart appeared, I was almost tempted to ask her to revive him just so I could kill him again for what he did to you… and maybe, just so I wasn’t alone.”

Astarion lifted his gaze, resting his cheek against the palm Y/N had untwined from his, so her soft thumb could brush away the rivers of tears spilling down his face. “Please don’t leave me again. I’m – I’m not strong enough to go through it once more.”

“You are, my Star,” Y/N kissed his forehead. “You are so strong.”

“Let me rephrase that then – I don’t want to go through anything in life. Not without you by my side.”

“I promise,” she muttered and leaned forward pulling Astarion to lay next to her, sealing the vow with a kiss.

And though he still struggled with nightmares of that fight, though he still woke up breathless at times, arms desperately searching for the warm body that always occupied the other side of the bed, the deepest reassurance he could ever have that everything was alright, that Y/N was safe and sound, were moments like these when her body melted against his, where she was panting and gasping and so full of life, especially as Astarion hit that one spot that made Y/N throw her head back in a moan of pleasure.

Her nails dug into his shoulders with such a delicious taste of pain, never drawing blood though, but always leaving crescent imprints he wanted to keep on his body forever. Like Y/N’s touch could erase everything Cazador had left on him.

Y/N’s back arched, and Astarion used the moment to slip his hands underneath and pull her upwards from the bed so that she was resting in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, chest to chest, and him buried so deep, it made both their eyes roll to the backs of their heads in pleasure.

She’d taught him sex could be wonderful. It could be meaningful and lovely, instead of a means to an end or a bargaining chip to be used. It had taken a while for Astarion to grow comfortable with even the thought of her touching him, but nowadays, he became quite the grump if he ever awoke not in Y/N’s arms, even if it was for such a simple reason as nature calling her.

Her touch was the balm on sunburnt skin, her kiss was a reassurance that it needn’t go further than that and he could always say no and would be listened to. But in moments like these, all Astation wanted was more. He wanted to feel her squeeze around him, to hear her breath choke at the back of her throat, he craved to feel her pulse race as she climbed higher and higher, closer and closer to her orgasm with every thrust of his hips.

Sex had been something repulsive and vile to him. Now it was the most beautiful thing he felt blessed to participate in, all because of the woman moaning his name above him.

“I’m so close,” she whispered in his ear as Astarion kissed her neck, heart thundering in her chest.

“Let go,” he muttered, a shiver rolling down Y/N’s spine at the pleading tone of his words, making her grip his back tighter, and dig in her nails more. “Let go, I got you.”

She whimpered at his coaxing words and tightened so much around his cock, it became almost impossible for Astarion to keep pumping in and out, so he slid a hand down across her chest to her clit, just to push her over that edge she was teetering on.

Two deft fingers circled around the swollen bud, once, twice and that was it for Y/N to break. With a sigh of his name, she came, hard, taking him along as well, the orgasm surprising Astarion with its intensity and how quickly it’d crept upon him.

Bliss exploded through his veins, and his nails dug into the small of Y/N’s back, always careful to not hurt her, but deep enough to leave moon-shaped marks on her body, the same ones she no doubt had left along his back and shoulders as they both succumbed to euphoria.

A moan got stuck in his throat before slipping past his lips as Y/N ground down one final time, before stilling her hips and relishing how he filled her until the mix of their pleasure ran down their thighs and stained the sheets below. Never mind that though. It was a problem for future Astarion and Y/N.

They both were trembling as, slowly, the orgasmic wave subsided, and as they came down from their highs, Astarion couldn’t help but place a cheeky kiss on Y/N’s neck, letting his fangs skim along her skin and feel her pulse spike at that.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her hands slowly skimming up and down his spine, body still rocked by pleasure. “If you want a snack, you know all you have to do is ask.”

“I’m fine,” Astarion mumbled, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. “I just… I just love you. That’s all.”

At least that’s what he said, but underneath laid a thousand other words – I need to feel your heart beating. I have to feel your skin against mine. I need to hear you breathing and know that you’re alive and here with me. That he wasn’t imagining it as some sort of a hallucination and wouldn’t wake up back under Cazador’s control with her body lying dead on the ground by his feet.

Y/N hummed in content, pressing a kiss to Astarion’s chest. “I love you too. So much.”

A smile bloomed on his lips as he pulled away just a bit so he could cup Y/N’s face between his hands. “I don’t know what I may have done in my previous life, and I certainly don’t know what I did in this one to ever deserve someone like you, but whatever it was… I’m glad I did.”

The way her eyes shone would have brought Astarion to his knees, had he already not been kneeling on the bed. Y/N was just about to pull him in for a deep kiss when their moment was disturbed by the bell of their house ringing.

They knew it was daytime. And only one person would ring it then.

Astarion looked at Y/N.

She lifted a brow. “Ready to figure out what’s in that book?”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “With you, I’m ready for anything.”

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird

A/N: I am in love with pixels on a screen...

243 notes · View notes

dumplingsjinson · 1 year

Note

hellooooooo :3 can u do prompts about lovers reuniting once again? (if u want a little bit of context: a left for a reason, b excruciatingly waits)

List of “lovers reuniting once again” prompts

“I’ve waited for so long, and now you’re finally back, but all I can do is cry over how much I’ve missed you. How goddamned embarrassing can I get?”

“You actually came back.” “Well, I did promise you, and you know I don’t like breaking my promises.”

“How long has it been?” “Five hundred and seventy days. Not that I’ve been counting.”

“Do you know how agonising it was for me to wait for you like this, without knowing if you were okay or not?”

“Never leave me like that again, you got me? I’ll fucking hunt you down and kill you myself,” Character A says while sobbing their heart out; as Character B pulls them into a tight, tight hug.

“I’m sorry I made you wait for so long, but I’m back.” “It’s okay. You’ll always be worth the wait.”

“You promise you won’t leave me again?” “I promise.”

“I’d wait for you for a lifetime if I had to.”

“I’m never leaving you like that again, I promise. I’m here to stay.”

“You’re back for good, right?” “Of course. I’m back for good, for you.”

#prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompts #otp prompts #request

452 notes · View notes

eddiesbug · 2 years

Text

𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋

vampire 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍.

[smut 16+ (p in v), blood, gore, eddie is a sexy vampire, part 1 of a miniseries, feel free to req scenarios for this au!!]

eddie sinks his razor-sharp, stark white fangs into the dip of your jugular, moaning against your neck as blood spills from the puncture holes and gathers in your collarbone. you’re seated firmly in his lap, knuckles strained as you squirm through the first inklings of pain. your pulse thrums underneath his face, the heat radiating off of you in waves as he fervidly drains you for all you’re worth. you murmur something barely coherent, throat bared to him with your head nestled into him comfortably. you’re an offering. accepting your fate, whatever he decides it will be. what’s yours is his, after all — even your life.

the initial sharp pain has faded to a pleasurable ache and you loll as he gulps down more and more of your sweet ichor. the act of letting him consume you is enjoyable, but it always leaves you drowsy and weak from the substantial blood loss. always attuned to your needs, he can tell when you’ve had enough; he feels you go entirely lax against him, your body weight propped against his own. you’ve learned by now that it’s easier to stay still and let him get it over with; struggling only makes it worse.

peeling himself away from your now weeping neck, he licks the wounds clean and patches you up with some gauze. you smile, that beautiful, dopey smile that appears when you’re tired like this. he grins back, flashing his crimson-soaked teeth. you scrunch your nose.

“you’re pretty,” you mumble, arms coming up and around him to tangle in his hair. he’s always had striking features, but since turning everything’s a little sharper. his stare is more piercing, his ears pointed at the ends rather than curved, cheeks devoid of their once flushed pink. he’s all straight, angular lines in places where he used to be soft and rounded.

“you’re prettier,” he counters. you don’t believe it for a second.

you giggle. his lips pull back to bare his honed fangs as he feels you lazily rut against him. you’re needy, and who is he to deny you?

the airy sounds expelling from your lips hitch your cadence and eddie lifts his hips to push back against you, his erection now prominent through his ripped jeans; you sigh.

“please, eddie. i’ll be good. promise,” you whimper, trembling hands kneading and pawing at his neck. you’re pliant, putty in his cruel hands. his obedient little princess.

“i know you’re good. think you deserve a reward for being so good to me, hm?” he coos, slipping a broad hand beneath your skirt. one finger rubs the length of your slit, collecting your wetness and holding it to the glistening light. “when d’you get this wet, sweet thing?”

you keen at his touch, hips bucking of their own accord.

“tell me what you want,” he says. “i’ll give you whatever you want, alright?”

“want you inside me.”

“how could i say no to that?” he teases, pushing your cotton underwear to the side. you fumble with his belt, tugging his jeans aside with lazy movements and almost immediately sinking down onto him. “slowly.” he chides.

tears prick at your eyes as you force yourself down too quickly; he’s absolutely hung, so no matter how much he prepares you, it’s unpleasant at first, oftentimes pushing past the threshold of pleasure and into pure pain. you sink down onto inch after agonising inch, encasing him in your gummy walls, and by the time you’re done you’re in tears. fat droplets cascade down your hot cheeks, the ballooning sobs in your throat bursting and tumbling out of your lips.

“i told you,” eddie scolds lightly but with no real malice, “i told you to take it slow, you greedy thing.” his tongue slides out to lick a broad stripe up your face, sucking the tears from your ruddy cheeks. he lets out an obscene groan, hips gyrating into you in fluid movements. you feel his sharpened teeth grazing against your face, across your cheekbones and then down to your jaw; the danger, the awareness that he’s a deadly creature that could kill you at any moment he pleases, excites you. he flips you so that you’re underneath him, pumping into you once, twice, thrice.

“fuck,” he moans. “you get any more perfect and i’m gonna think you were made for me.”

“i am,” you gasp.

“you are. you’re my little slut and a perfect meal,” he purrs. “don’t want me to feed from anyone else? you’d get too jealous?”

“yeah,” you whine. “just me. ‘m yours.”

“good.” he punctuates the statement with a thrust hard enough to leave you seeing stars. his teeth protrude, nipping at your collarbones meanly; pinpricks of blood pool and he laps at it voraciously, fucking hard up into you. “i’m gonna fucking make a mess of you, then. you’re mine to ruin.”

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profound-jade · 1 year

Text

Supreme Support Reader

Cottage Core, Supreme Support Reader, basically I was feeling really bad about something in bed, like a lot then I remembered something that made me realise what I was agonising over for the last 20 minutes didn’t happen. The feeling of absolute relief I felt was incredible and as I relaxed in bed I thought about the reader having the divine power of making anyone happy, satisfied, and whatever good emotion they could want.

Like, maybe Xiao is feeling hurt today way more than usual only for him to bump into you accidentally while you're picking berries in the outskirts of Liyue for making jam and a feeling of happiness just flows into him when he is with you. Maybe, well definitely, he would be unable to control himself and goes up to hug you and this sense of unyielding happiness and relief just overwhelms him. It was like every last one of his cells were dying of thirst and hunger for months and a banquet of food and drinks were brought to them.

While Xiao is in sheer bliss, you are just a bit stunned about what happened before turning around and seeing that it’s Xiao, which calms you down. Still a bit confused, but seeing how happy he is and knowing his backstory you decide to just stay there for a bit.

Not just people in constant pain like Xiao react this way, ordinary people that are generally happy and satisfied with their daily lives are not that much better. It’s like something they can’t describe awakened within. It’s like something that was written inside their genes but was never activated. After being with you and having all their negative emotions solved, ones they had subconsciously and they consciously didn’t even know, before then being ubercharged with positive and happy emotions, they cannot go back to how things were before without you.

Ningguang had met you after you opened up a small stall in which you sold products that you made from various homegrown ingredients or stuff you got from foraging. The products were simple like jam from berries, homemade baking products like cookies and cakes, and other things like that. They were simple yet they filled something within the customers. It was like they had an itch they didn’t even know about being scratched as they ate your produce.

Ningguang had been curious so she went and bought some sweets you made without much expectation as she had already tasted all the finest cuisine in all of-holy fuck how are these so good?! She tried to buy out all the remaining stocks after that which yous topped as its not fair to the other customers.

Ningguang rather forcefully befriended you after that and you two started hanging out, doing and playing all sorts of simple things for hours on end like reading comic books, playing kids games, things that she would never have done by herself or anyone. The Tianquan’s time is measured in solid gold, something she carefully built a market for, could earn millions of Mora in just an hour or even. And yet, she now feels all the time she had spent earning those same mountains upon mountains of mora not even worth mentioning as she sat by a large tree, you in her arms reading a short story as the cool breeze flew by.

As the sun set and you returned home, so did Ningguang. Her thoughts raced as she thought about all the things you and her were going to do later on tomorrow despite knowing dang well she can’t possibly fit all those activities within even a month of time, much less a day. Ningguang met her frantic assistants at the Harbour, complaining to her about all the things they had to take care because of her absence, but Ningguang could only smile fondly of her memories today.

She made her way up to the Jade Chamber, and as she had walked into her bedroom, she could only stare at her queen sized bed with an empty look in her eyes. She had prioritised Mora and the Jade Chamber above all else for her entire life but now she suddenly feels the lavish and large abode she lived in was empty and shallow.

Ningguang clutched the part where her heart was under, treating her fine silken garments with force she never would’ve dreamed of before. Ah, this feeling has returned once again. It had been bearable, she suppose. This feeling had sprouted and quickly grew the moment she had met you. It was a feeling she was quite familiar with, something that was imprinted onto her since childhood.

Greed. This intense feeling grew by the moment and with each day, Ningguang’s fantasies of taking you for herself grew more from a shameful thought to a full out plan. Construction and ordering of all kinds of things for turning her private chambers into the two of you’s home was sent out.

Had that not happened first, it probably won’t happen for a while as whoever first finds you gets you.

Maybe when Beidou returned to the harbour to celebrate for newest accomplishment, she saw a single glance at you before being completely stunned in place. Her pupils widened and she made her mind up on the spot to have you for herself.

Childe brushes hands with you on the streets before shamelessly going and straight up grabs yours before flirting.

What if you were in another nation, say Inazuma? Ei would go from meditating and thinking about how eternity and all that is great before instantly changing her mind after meeting you for like 5 minutes and forcefully marrying you and making you live in the palace, the puppet Shogun completely agreeing with her decision. No 200 year long duel needed.

Or, if things get really spicy, all of this and more somehow happens. Maybe you were a small merchant living in nature and just around selling things you made, seducing and charming anyone you made semi-contact with. Because of that, powerful people and characters that could influence the world were just silently stepping on each other's shoes under the table and they begrudgingly shared a picnic table with you outside, them not wanting to scare you being the only reason they haven’t pulled out their weapons and activated their visions yet.

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cherryrogers · 1 year

Text

➳ hellfire

pairing: dutch van der linde x f!reader

warnings: smut, angst if you squint, dutch is kinda toxic lol who knew??

summary: That’s what Dutch Van der Linde does; he burns.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: me write a smut fic without the use of ‘good girl’ challenge (impossible)

His fingertips are tail-ends of lit cigarettes on your hips, scorching marks into your flesh.

That’s what Dutch Van der Linde does; he burns.

Spits flames like a wildfire when he’s angry. Incinerates his enemies with gunfire and blazing vengeance. Sets your body afire with red-hot lust that’s pain and pleasure flickering dangerously as one flame.

He’s hellfire. He burns and destroys, but he also ignites.

“My darling girl,” He utters, languidly dragging himself in and out of you. “You are just divine.”

His thighs are hot against the back of your own even through the material of his trousers, strong from the years of riding horseback and running between towns to avoid the law. You like when he sits you on them, takes you from below and lands his lips on your neck, his chest pressed to yours.

Tonight, he doesn’t take you so intimately. With passion. Romance. Tenderness.

Tonight, he needs to fuck. To be deep and snug inside your ever-heavenly heat. To be grounded. A reminder that there’s things much more worth his time than filthy O’Driscolls or pestering lawmen.

Things like his girl on her hands and knees, naked as the day you was born and laid out in front of him like a gift sent from God. A fallen angel with heaven between your thighs, only for him to find solace and utter euphoria in.

When Dutch fucks, it isn’t rough. It isn’t quick and over with before you know it. It’s slow. It’s agonising. His strokes are sedated yet impossibly deep. Desperate whimpers fall from your lips as you chase the pleasure, the pleasure Dutch grants you at his own pace. He’ll watch you squirm under him as if you’re utterly starved of his cock, and he’ll bask in the amount of control he has over you. He’ll fuck you slow until the sheets are wet with your tears, until he knows that your high driven by his touch is the only thing that can relieve your pain, and he’ll let you let go.

Matchstick after matchstick he’ll light and let fizzle out, until he finally decides to set your fire ablaze.

“Fuck, Dutch.” You cry as the man pulls out, leisurely rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. Your clit thrums at the pressure.

He marvels at the slick glistening on your skin, coating your lips and trickling down your inner thighs, evidence of his magnificence. He can make men shake in fear and you tremble in utmost pleasure, in desperation.

His hands plant on your waist and roll you over. Heat flushes across your face, realising the tears escaping your eyes are free for him to see, tears that’ve taken the black liquid on your lashes with them. You raise your hands to wipe them away, but Dutch is quick to stop you, wrapping a large hand around both of your wrists with ease. He pushes them above your head, lowers his mouth to the wet skin of your cheeks, and collects the salty shows of ecstasy with his lips.

Between your legs, he takes his cock with his other hand and slides back into you. It’s heaven and hell and everywhere inbetween, the drag of his thick length, the depth of his strokes and the sheer lack of haste he’s making to draw you to your climax.

Does he enjoy torturing you so?, you wonder. Can torture be pleasurable? Can it leave you impossibly exhausted yet yearning for more?

“So damn pretty when you cry for me, aren’t you?” Dutch rasps, catching your lips in a bruising kiss. It’s not a question. He likes when you’re crying for his cock, for your sweet release that feels so close yet painfully far.

“Please, Dutch,” You sigh into his mouth, head hazy with every push of his tip against your sweet spot, the pace of his ruts all too slow. “I need— oh.”

His thumb draws circles on your clit, and his dark brows furrow. “Need?” He murmurs in your ear, his breath hot. ”I will tell you exactly what you need.”

Fully sheathing himself inside of you, he tightens his grip on your wrists, pausing his thrusts and lifting a knuckle to trail down your cheek.

“You need… to have faith,” He says. Of course. “Have faith…” He slams inside you hard suddenly, prompting a broken whimper from your throat. “That I know what’s best for you.”

His lips trail across your neck, then he nips at your collarbone. There’ll be bruises littering the skin there in the morning. “And you know what’s best for you, sweet girl?”

Pleasure builds at your core at the heat of his mouth, his thumb on your swollen clit, his cock filling you to the brim.

Then, his voice in your ear. Clear as day amid the haze of your thoughts.

“Me.”

You cry out as you finally unravel, clenching tightly around him as you come. He hums at your body’s reaction, slowly riding you through it with gentle swipes over your over sensitive bud.

Tears fall down your face, and you don’t bother to try and hide them now. Everything about Dutch Van der Linde is overwhelming. His size, his power, his ability to make you come and cry and feel pain and pleasure all at once. He’s molten lava, melting you into nothing.

He pulls out soon afterwards, pumping his length a few times with knitted brows before his hot seed decorates your stomach. A sigh of satisfaction elicits from his lips, watching as he paints your skin, marking you as his own.

His other hand removes itself from your arms still stuck above your head, and a part of you misses the feeling as you roll out your wrists.

Dutch slowly wipes a hand up your stomach, collecting his ejaculation with two thick fingers before bringing them to your mouth. You let him slide them through your plush lips, the familiar salty taste lansing on your tastebuds. He watches silently as you lick them dry, entranced by your willing submission.

“Good girl,” He utters lowly, running a thumb over your bottom lip, then underneath your eyes, getting rid of the wetness there. “Such a delicate thing.”

There’s a certain look in his eyes, one you can’t quite decipher. “One day,” He says. “I fear I might just break you.”

Suddenly, the weight of him against your hips lifts, and Dutch is sitting on the edge of the cot, buttoning his trousers back up. He won’t be coming to bed, then. You resist the frown that almost pulls at your lips, grabbing your chemise from the bottom of the cot and pulling it back over your form, shielding your skin from the cold night air.

He picks up a book from the nightstand as well as a cigar before standing to his full height, carrying out his usual routine of reading and smoking while the rest of the camp recharges. It’s as if he’s beyond sleep, beyond regular human needs.

Just as he’s about to leave the tent, you call out to him.

“You won’t break me, Dutch. I promise.”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the sound of birds flitting through tree branches and faint whistles of the wind. Then, Dutch turns his head slightly to the side, just so you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Sleep well, dear girl.”

The shadow of his large figure appears beyond the tent, and disappears just as quickly.

You sigh, laying down on your side, away from the flickering candlelight. If only Dutch fell asleep as easily as you do after bringing one another to your highs. If only he chose the company of his beloved after the intimate deed as opposed to Evelyn Miller and tobacco smoke invading his lungs.

You love him. Your worship the ground he walks on. And the feeling is mutual, he’s assured you on many instances.

But the unnerving thought occurs to you as you begin to fall into a sound slumber, the faint scent of Dutch’s cigar diffusing through the thin tent walls.

Choosing to love Dutch Van der Linde, you might be flying dangerously close to the ever-burning sun.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x you #dutch van der linde smut #rdr2 fanfic #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde fanfic #dutch van der linde imagine #dutch van der linde reader insert #rdr2 smut

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unicyclehippo · 7 months

Note

Ameliorate?

her third meeting with imogen took place on the third, which launda appreciated very much. she admired the day calendar propped up on her desk—the big 3 stamped in black, and coffee - doctor temult looped excitedly across most of the page. beneath it, much smaller, was delivery GE74-226 in her assistant’s cramped and slanted lettering.

‘right, we’ve got a shit tonne of work to do today so whether the fuck is going on between you two, you can’t be an hour late again,’ ashton said, shouldering in through the closed door.

‘mister greymoore! what have i said about knocking?’

ashton dragged a curious eye over her office. ‘there’s no one here.’

‘it’s about etiquette! i could have been - oh, i don’t know - on the phone. or taking a private meeting.’

‘you weren’t.’

‘but i could have been,’ she insisted.

ashton sighed. ‘you want me to go back and knock, don’t you?’

laudna smiled brightly at the suggestion and nodded. ‘please. practice makes perfect!’

ashton sighed again, louder. he stomped out of the office and closed the door. laudna waited. and waited. she waited long enough that it occurred to her ashton had decided it wasn’t worth it and had simply left, which is when they knocked.

‘come in!’ she trilled. ‘good morning, mister greymoore!’

ashton rolled his eye mightily. ‘morning, doctor bradbury. can i run through your schedule now, or do i have to curtesy too?’

‘i’m not a monarch, mister greymoore, the knocking was perfectly adequate. and very well done. go ahead!’

he shook his head. ‘right. so, spanner in my perfect schedule for you, treshi called this morning. set up a compulsory wank session for all of staff, two to three.’

‘um.’

‘by wank,’ they elaborated, ‘i mean it’s gonna be bullshit. he’ll say how good he is and everyone’s gonna agree even if they don’t think it’s true.’

‘ah.’ laudna relaxed. ‘yes, of course, you mean it as a manner of self-gratification on his behalf. non-literal wank. how funny! though you must never,’ she said gravely, ‘say it again. it’s terribly inappropriate for work.’

laughter lit up ashton’s eye, green shining prettily. a big grin split his face in two. ‘sure, doc. i’ll remember that.’

‘like you remember to knock, i’m sure.’ ashton laughed at that, too, and laudna beamed down at her papers.

she wasn’t—had never been—particularly good with people. when ashton had been assigned to her, her first ever student, she had been sure that it would go terribly. and it had, for the first week. she had been controlling and stern and brittle. they had been brash and argumentative and, one might say, extremely anti-authoritarian. the second week had been not much better; after her poor behaviour, she had withdrawn, going to such agonising lengths to be direct and complete and courteous that it was better for them both if she simply never spoke at all. it was ashton, braver and better than she by far, who made the effort to try again, and so they had reached a tentative understanding and remained there for several weeks. right up until the hishari mask was delivered into her hands. that was when everything changed. not just between them but for the museum, for laudna. in the upheaval that followed—the recreation, the reveal, her lecture and curated exhibit of the hishari culture, her denouncement of hytroga’s timeline, her rising “stardom” and increasing public appearances—ashton had made themself indispensable. during the preparations, he had been knowledgeable and careful and, in those private moments when he thought no one present enough to notice, downright reverent. he loved their work, and if that had been the only thing laudna liked about him, that would have been more than enough. as it turned out, ashton was wonderful and she had the honour of front row seats, as they say, to witnessing ashton grow into a fine young man. as everything changed, ashton remained steady as a rock. grew with each challenge thrown their way into a veritable pillar. figuratively and literally—laudna had overheard teatime gossip amongst her colleagues that insisted ashton had become a “handsome guy”, “a hunk”, and “a juicy, prime slab of beef”, which was one of ashton’s favourite.

now, the proof of that was the pop of stitches in the shoulders of their coat as ashton dropped carelessly into the chair in front of laudna’s desk. the sound made her wince and she began to rifle through her drawer.

‘okay, so, schedule.’ he pulled it up on his tablet, squinting at it. ‘while you were off with seshadri—‘

‘she has a title, mister greymoore.’

‘—like i said, treshi called about the meeting thing. everyone important’s gonna be there—never been so fucking thankful to be a nobody in my life. right. first you’ve got a call with that, uh, religious nut over in tal’dorei, that’s at nine-thirty.’

‘mhm,’ laudna said, reprovingly, instead of repeating herself. mostly because although she knew miss pike trickfoot had a title, she couldn’t quite recall what it was. her eminence, perhaps? laudna scowled thoughtfully down at the contents of the drawer. where on earth was her sewing kit?

‘then quarter past ten you’ve got the delivery. the movers are taking it straight to storage, it’s gotta go through stasis before you can look at it but i blocked it out because i figure you’ll wanna oversee it anyway. twelve, you’ve got your coffee date,’ he said with an odd inflection, ‘two to three is treshi’s stupid meeting. don’t be late. lab time four to eight, and at five vudol requested your “expert insight” on that duskmaven statue—‘

‘why the air quotes?’

‘because,’ he said, patiently amused, ‘vudol doesn’t care what you say about the statue.’

laudna frowned at him. ‘i am the foremost expert on pre-reiloran marquet.’

‘yeah, sure. that’s not why they want to see you.’

‘then…why?’

‘because vudol thinks you’re hot.’

‘oh. really? hm.’ she pushed the drawer shut, drummed her fingers against it. her nails clacked against the glossy wood, the iron handle. ‘is that why they need so much help with their eighth century marquesian translations?’ ashton nodded, smirking. ‘i’m actually rather relieved to hear that, i thought somehow mistress seshadri had hired an idiot. um. would you send them one of your impolite emails telling them i can’t make it?’

‘honestly it’d be a fucking joy. how impolite?’ she see-sawed her hand. ‘got it. guess that means you’re not into vudol, then,’ ashton said, more statement than question. ‘makes sense. not really your type.’

‘i don’t—you always manage to turn work conversations into something else, mister greymoore—‘

‘it’s a gift,’ they shrugged.

‘it really is. you’re a very gifted conversationalist—‘

‘i’m really not, you’re just worse.’

‘—and a good friend.’ he looked away at that, scratched at the dry skin over his eyepatch. he did not, she noted happily, deny that he was her friend. ‘which is why i shall indulge—just this once!—in your inappropriate tangents and say that i don’t really have a type.’

discomfort forgotten, ashton turned back to face her so quickly she heard their neck crack.

‘you’re joking,’ he said, tone flat.

‘no?’

his mouth worked for a moment but he didn’t say anything, only stared at her wide-eyed. then he turned that stare on the little marquesian horse statue that sat pride of place on her desk. looking abruptly exhausted, he ran a big hand over his face, rubbed his right eye.

‘you’re not joking. oh my god.’ he huffed a laugh. ‘yknow, for someone so observant, you’re not very smart.’

an odd tangent, and slightly hurtful, but laudna couldn’t say he wasn’t right. she said as much, fiddling with the frilled cuff of her sleeves, and added, ‘i enjoyed book learning very much but my school life was interrupted often and troubled. in the end, my grades weren’t quite what i hoped they would be.’ a fond smile touched her lips and she said, lifting her chin proudly, ‘i did find my way here, in the end.’

ashton smiled. there was a strange expression on their face that she couldn’t place. ‘yeah. you did. some things take a little time, i guess.’

‘all the best things in life. now that’s a very good piece of advice, and a good quote. i wonder who said it first? regardless, tell that advisor of yours that i’m doing a good job, won’t you?’ ashton grumbled an agreement and stood. ‘ah - before you leave - your coat, mister greymoore.’

‘it’s fine.’

‘nonsense. i won’t have my post-grad wandering the halls looking like some dickensian urchin. coat, please.’ she stood, walked around the desk, and held out her hand for it, waiting patiently as he wrestled with his pride.

finally, he gave in, as he had every time she did this for him. hemming the ankles of his too-long slacks, taking in the neat button-ups. she had even mended the elbows of this same coat when he first came in wearing it, taking the tattered threads and returning it with fun elbow patches. it was about that time that he realised laudna enjoyed it and stopped fighting her so much; looking back, it likely helped that she had told him she enjoyed it. costuming had been her entry into history, after all, and she so rarely had time to indulge now.

ashton yanked his coat off and passed it over.

‘i think you’ll need a little more space in the shoulders,’ she mused, touching her thumb to the strained fabric.

‘don’t waste your time.’

‘now ashton, what did i just say? all the best things take a little time.’

did he understand what she was saying? that she regarded them, ashton, as someone quite wonderful and deserving of her time? he didn’t acknowledge it, storming out of her office with a rough grunt and a wave. it was fine. if he didn’t understand, she would simply write it effusively into his letter of recommendation when the time came.

#prompt fill #tagging my stories #I didn’t use the word but i meant to i just only wrote a quarter of the scene in my mind & ran out of time #this is for my modern au museum au i love it!!!!#laudna my beloved #imodna #only hinted at here but eventually it is #n I love laudna n ashton friendship it’s so good

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dsaf-confessions · 4 days

Note

Henry and Dave had 'good' times and bad times, because Dave's not stupid, not even when he was young, he's hurt, he was quite literally physically weak from dehydration and hunger, and he'd never really been shown love before, but I truly think that despite all that he wouldn't of stuck with Henry if there was no mutual emotional connection there. And what do I think that emotional connection was, for the main part? Sympathy. Realised or not. Imagine Henry with this young homeless orphan boy, wide eyed, a quick learner, bubbly yet thick skinned, henry already a fair bit deep inside of the rabbit hole of his frankly deteriorating mind. I don't think there was entirely a net positive there, giving it a go to see if this child could help him bring back David and Martha, or atleast show the world what his intellectual prowess made him. I think there was an unrealised sympathy there that really this child had remarkable similarities to a young Henry, tired legs from pushing around that newspaper loaded bike all day and tired of all his fathers bullshit. Acting far too mature far too quick to stay alive. Hungry, physically hungry, because it wasn't easy to always have food on the table for himself as well. Atleast a bit of him recognised those memories in Dave. And Dave, it was a process, certainly, to realise that this blunt yet providing figure, who also entertained his desire for any educational enrichment long enough to keep him interested, wasn't truly ridgid and harsh. Dave knew he wasn't perfect, more of the metaphorical wire monkey as opposed to the cloth, only providing in the slightest bit to his emotional tenderness, yet I think there were events where he was caught being human. Being so ashamed of himself sometimes he'd drink like his father, and being a lightweight from his usual refusal of any alcohol, simply breaking down and being caught by Dave spilling his guts out about his traumas and past love. Facing an episode and letting his underlying and overwhelming neurotic fear of so much slip, even willingly mentioning Martha and david, atleast once. Things like these, from off the bat, Dave would process, and sympathise with. He would have faced loss, friends, people who'd shown care for him, even street animals hed bonded with, being shot, disappearing, over dosing, dying or changing or hurting, he knew what it was like to loose. He'd been loosing his wole life, and relying on shallow highs and a vigorous and animalistic need to keep on fucking proving he was worth something to get back on his feet again. Seeing this man who provided to daves basic needs and lust for knowledge, with an intellect and foothold on life, hurt like him, was nice. It was nice to know that the bad things would always be there, but he could grow around them. Yet he could still sympathise, and understand, and stick with him. I think Dave realised this, he was more emotionally mature than one would think. But the bad? I think Henry miller lobotomised Dave, and I think that greatly inhibited Dave's ability to consider and understand both himself and his emotions. The lobotomy was failed, so he wasn't completely placid and docile, more preserving this nagging emptiness where his humanity should of been, and having to haul mountains to work his way around emotions and emotional intelligence. Why did Henry lobotomise Dave? It was truly not completely thought out, Henry could provide a whole explanation however, yet the true reason was simply the machinations of a desperate and driven mind. Maybe this will work, maybe this will bring them back, maybe this will make it hurt less, maybe it'll make it hurt so much that I won't have to care any more. Even if it hurts to do it, tugs on the heartstrings a tad to turn this boy into a placid pet, doesn't everything hurt now? Dave was left agonised and neurotic with a hole to fill where his heart was (mwahaha) and an inability to truly make sense of much of his interpersonal relations or how to save his own ass in bad relations. His personality was still there, yet his cunning and freewill was blunted.

And yknow, he was springlocked and all too.

-the pink anon

#dsaf confessions #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dave miller #henry miller #pink anon

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the-kingshound · 11 months

Note

Considering the Hound vs Camelot ask

Because the angst isn’t over yet.

How do the poly’s feel about the others choice?

Would they fight on it?👀

Arthur/Evaine: it would be an agonising confrontation, I could see this go either way depending on a lot of factors. In a possible scenario, Evaine would convince Arthur to choose MC as Arthur already is tearing himself apart over it. Evaine's pleas would convince him to go for MC.

In another, both Arthur and Evaine would be torn apart by grief and pain, but would let MC go if MC was the one to push both to choose Camelot.

As for their reaction to each other's choice: Evaine wouldn't be angry with Arthur for choosing Camelot over MC, but would be angry at whoever forced him to choose. Because Evaine know Arthur can't live with that choice. And of course Arthur would never hold against Evaine choosing MC over Camelot.

Arthur/Gwyar: Gwyar would very clearly want to choose MC, and upon Arthur's painful admission that they can't, that Camelot would be destroyed, Gwyar would be filled with desperation, morphing into anger. Why does it have to be them? It isn't fair!

Only if MC expressed their desperation for them to choose Camelot they would do so. And that decision would not only destroy them both, but their relationship as well. Because Gwyar couldn't bear to stay in Camelot or even look at Arthur. To be reminded of how they both sacrificed MC. Gwyar would leave, and Arthur would break.

As for their reaction if only one had made the choice: I think Arthur wouldn't hold anything against Gwyar either way. He would only be devastated to have lost Camelot. And Gwyar would, again, leave but not be angry at Arthur (instead, reassuring him that it wasn't his fault. That Gwyar just needs to be away for a bit).

Yniol/Morien: in a poly, Yniol would fold to Morien's reasoning and they would collectively end up choosing MC.

About their reactions if they learned of the choice made by the other: Yniol is not someone who lives with regrets. They accept the past and do their best to live with the consequences, so they would not feel resentment towards Morien even for a second. Morien, on the other hand, would completely lose it upon learning MC is gone for Camelot. They would not be angry at Yniol (even though is may sometimes seem that way), but they would fall in a self destructive spiral because it's not right. MC had already given too much.

Gwyar/Morien: they would choose MC most of the time, even if Gwyar would be devastated to lose Camelot. The only instance in which they would fight is if MC specifically asked them to save Camelot instead. Because in that case Gwyar would want to respect MC's wishes (Gwyar think this is after all, their choice more than anyone else to make) while Morien would call MC a self sacrificing selfish bastard and would want to save the Hound regardless. In either case, if they decided to save MC or not, Gwyar and Morien's relationship would never recover.

As for their reaction to each other's decision: both would have sacrificed Camelot, so they would not have so much to argue. But Morien would be very insistent in telling Gwyar that MC was more than worth the sacrifice while Gwyar would resent Morien a bit for their lack of care for Camelot as a whole.

#ask #poly routes #polys #arthur/evaine #arthur/gwyar #gwyar/morien #morien/yniol

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pastanest · 1 year

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if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

Something To Hold On To

Another night is spent in your half empty bed, staring out of the window, unable to sleep. Watching. Waiting. Desperate. The events that led you to this agonising repetition haunt you, ghosts of the past preventing your present from ever seeing a future, because it is unchanging now.

Denise’s death snapped something in Daryl, you knew it from the moment he got back that day, but you had never thought in a million years that anything would have the power to push him away from you. From your perspective, the death of a loved one brings you closer to the rest of the people you love, because it reminds you to cherish every moment with them, but for Daryl...it was different. You followed him all the way to the gate that day, trying to persuade him not to go out there because you knew what he could be risking. Usually, you were the one person guaranteed to get through to him, it had been that way since the farm, when the group found out where Sophia had been all that time. You were the only one that Daryl couldnt snap at, for some reason he had restraint around you. But that day at the gate, he lost it.

“The hell ya think yer doin’? You dont own me, I aint yers, who were we tryin’ to kid thinkin’ any of this was worth it?! Im better off by my damn self, ya don’ get a say in what I do, aint the boss of me. Run back to yer house, yer garden, an’ block out reality like ya usually do! Never should’a let this go on fer so long.”

Daryl was in your face, throwing his arms up in big theatrical gestures, bringing the attention of everyone who happened to be around. You stood there broken in front of him, unable to say a word; what was there to say after hearing that? With a final scoff, he got on his bike, and he was gone.

The next and last time you saw him was at the lineup. Despite everything that he’d said to break your heart, you couldnt keep your eyes off of him, seeing him in such a state and not being able to go to him was the most painful thing you’d ever experienced. After Abraham, you were staring at Daryl for strength, to keep yourself together, to prevent you from looking at what was left of your friend. Obviously, an egotistical prick like Negan didnt take kindly to you refusing to look at him.

“Well, it looks like we’ve got a couple of lovers in our midst! ‘Scuse me darlin’, would you mind paying me a little attention? I did just brutally kill this poor ginger after all, the least you could do is admire my work!” Negan’s voice was almost flirtatious, in the most sadistic way, but when you continued to refuse him, he shoved his barbed-wire-bound bat in your face and yelled. “Take a damn look!”

And you got the surprise of your life. Daryl leapt to his feet, swinging at Negan and landing a hard punch to his jaw before he was held down. You cried out, trembling feverishly, thinking that Negan was going to kill Daryl for that, but instead he took Glenn. That, you couldnt look away from. The devastation in Daryl’s eyes told you that he blamed himself for Glenn’s death, and you would have done anything to reassure him, but then he was taken.

And every night since, you have been like this. Lying awake and staring out the window at the Alexandria gate, waiting for it to magically open and reveal Daryl, safe and sound. Trying to sleep with your paranoia over what was happening to him, whether he was even still alive, was an impossible feat in itself. But that combined with trying to decode Daryl’s actions, from brutally ending your relationship because he didnt want you anymore, to risking his own life just because a very threatening man was talking to you. Of course, you know Daryl is a kind man, he loves deep and cares so much more than he lets on, it isnt out of character for him to defend you after ending things with you. But, over the years Daryl has gotten a lot more level-headed, and in a situation like that, he could usually be trusted to hold it together better than pretty much anyone else; he’s an expert at bottling things up, after all. The fact that he lashed out like that, you’d only have expected a reaction of that ferocity from him being in love with you still, which completely counterbalanced what he’d said earlier that day. If he did still love you, why would he say such horrible things? None of it made sense, all you want to do is talk to him and find out what he meant, you need to see him, and you dont know how far away that day will be, if it’s even possible.

Night’s without Daryl are difficult, but you have some things to make the days a little easier. Rick keeps a close eye on you, knowing that what Daryl said really messed you up and that regardless, being without him is hard on you. He regularly asks you to join him in completing various tasks, or even to just watch Judith because it gives you something to distract yourself from it all. It was when you were distracted that the other things came into play.

Judith is sitting in your lap, listening to you intently as you read her a story. She’s just had her morning feed and is due for a name anytime now, reading to her always helps her drift off without a fuss.

“The prince found the sleeping princess, and he leant down to give her a kiss-“

And then, you are gone.

It was late, and you had promised yourself you were going to stay awake until Daryl had returned from the run. He could be gone until tomorrow morning, you didnt care, you were stubborn enough to stick it out. Or, so you thought. As the sun rose and Daryl crept through the front door, he found you passed out on the stairs. He laughed quietly to himself, but couldnt help feeling guilty at putting you in that position by being home late. As gently as he could, Daryl lifted you up into his arms and carried you up the stairs bridal style. He carefully laid you down in the bed you shared, kicking his shoes off before crawling in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing a soft kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir awake.

“You’re home!” Your sleepily slurred whispers were joyous, a welcome sound to Daryl’s own tired ears.

“Yeah I am, now get some rest, got the day off tomorrow.” Daryl mumbled.

You gasped and turned over to snuggle into his chest. “A whole day to makeout like teenagers?”

Daryl scoffed, blushing and burying his face in the pillow, making you laugh.

When you come back to yourself, Judith is asleep in your arms, and the tears you hadnt realised were rolling down your cheeks have started falling onto her little head. You’re quick to gently dry her head with the blanket around her, and then you wipe your own eyes with your hand.

Later, when Rick comes to take Judith and you’re jogging down the porch steps of the Grimes house, you happen to glance down the street. For maybe half a second, the perfect vision of Daryl standing in the distance, waving at you, stops you dead in your tracks. Tears fill your eyes, and by the time you’ve cleared them, he’s gone. Rick watches from the window as you wipe your eyes and hurry down the street in the opposite direction to your house, where you’d just told him you were going. You have to walk the long way round to avoid heading towards the place you’d just seen Daryl standing. Wherever he appears, that’s always the way.

Flashbacks and visions of him get you through the day, and as painful as they are, they make you feel something, they give you fleeting moments of joy until reality returns to you. Blocking out reality, that’s what Daryl said you did, but you’d never truly done that until now. At night, no flashbacks or visions ever came, and every night is eerily silent. Numb, empty, cold no matter how many blankets you wrap around yourself.

The one time you decided to distract yourself by leaving Alexandria to go on a supply run, Negan happened to show up, and he brought Daryl with him. Apparently, Negan asked Rick where you were, and Daryl looked up from the ground to watch Rick’s face as he answered.

“She left on a supply run this morning, she probably wont be back for a few days.” Rick said, holding Daryl’s gaze for just a moment so that Daryl knew two things: one, he was telling the truth, and two, you were alive.

“Well that is a shame, I brought Daryl here just for her!” Negan sighed dramatically, and then continued to go about his asshole business.

Ever since, you have stayed within the walls of Alexandria. You know that if you had been there that day, you would’ve lost your mind seeing Daryl, and probably gotten yourself in trouble for not being able to keep it together. But having the knowledge of it happening when you werent here, knowing it could happen again, however unlikely that may be, you have prepared yourself.

It’s been too long, you refused to count the days because with every one that passed it would feel like you were even further away from Daryl. At least now you know that Negan is keeping Daryl alive. Torturing him, yes, but keeping him alive.

When Rick asks you to come with him and a group to the Hilltop, you’re hesitant, wanting to stay at Alexandria just in case Negan comes back. You will gladly bargain your life for Daryl’s safe return home, and Rick knows that, which is exactly why he persuades you to come with him to the Hilltop. It takes a lot of persuasion, mainly bringing up the fact that one of your closest friends, Maggie, would love to see you. Rick will proudly admit to guilt-tripping you if it means he avoided you offering your life up to Negan.

The gates of the Hilltop open before you, and you’re already itching to go back to Alexandria, paranoid that Negan is back there with Daryl. The group follows Rick through the gates, and for a moment you’re occupied by your thoughts, until Rosita nudges you and gestures for you to head inside the walls. Maggie embraces Rick, and when Rick pulls away, he looks to his right and his eyes fill with tears. You follow his gaze. In a fraction of a second, your vision is blurred, and you’ve collapsed to your knees, in silent, sobbing hysterics. Maggie, Rosita and Tara are quick to huddle around you, offering you comforting words that you cant even hear. Your hands cover your face as you sob into them, you cant see or hear anything, but you can feel a pair of familiar eyes burning into you from afar.

Tara lets go of you to join Rick and Michonne in hugging him, welcoming him back.

Rick glances at everyone else, all of them having a good idea of what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth. “Let’s head inside, they need to catchup.”

You feel the comforting arms leave you, and you lower your shaking hands from your face, wiping your eyes and slowly rising to your feet. It takes all the strength you have left to lift your head, to meet his eyes. Daryl. His name sets you on fire, goosebumps rippling all over your skin, your throat suddenly dry and heart pounding against your ribs.

He looks awkward, uncomfortable, like he’s holding back from something. You know him too well. You cross your arms over your chest and slowly walk over to him.

And despite everything, you manage to smile at him. “You’re really back?” You ask, voice somewhat hoarse from all the crying you’ve just done.

Daryl nods, not saying anything.

“I dont know what happened to you, but I am so, so sorry.” You tell him, your sincerity laced in every syllable, almost bringing yourself back to tears at the thought of what he could have gone through.

Daryl nods again.

You take a deep breath, preparing to say the words you’ve been planning. “And I want you to know that I’ve come to terms with everything, regarding us no longer being, well, us...and I get it, things change and dont always work out-“ You nod to yourself while avoiding his eyes, as though still trying to convince yourself. “-but I want you to know that I can put it all behind me, and I will.” You meet his eyes. “Because more than anything, I want to be here for you, for whatever you need.”

Daryl shakes his head, finally finding the courage to speak. “Stupidest thing I ever did.”

For a brief moment, the sound of his voice leaves you breathless, but you quickly regain control of yourself.

“What was?” You ask.

“Everythin’ I said to ya that day, I was fuckin’ stupid, an’ wrong.” Daryl admits, shaking his head again, angry at himself.

“Y-You were?” You stammer out, unable to believe what you’re hearing and in desperate need of an explanation.

Daryl stares into your eyes for a few seconds, and you can almost see him taking in the sight of you to beat himself over the head with, to relive this guilt and torture himself further.

He glances down at his shoes. “Thought I had the strength t’ push ya away, t’ try and protect you, but I realised that there aint nobody that’d try as hard as me to keep ya safe.” Daryl looks back up at you, holding your gaze, not shy about admitting his last sentiment. “I’d die fer you.”

Your eyes start filling with fresh tears of an entirely different meaning. “Daryl...”

Daryl shrugs you off, avoiding your eyes because he knows you can see right through him; you know how hard it is for him to talk about his feelings, but he’ll do it for you. “I know i’s too late, I took too damn long realisin’ what was good fer me. For all I know ya could’ve moved on already, but I wouldnt be able to live with myself if I didnt tell ya the truth.”

Then, you smile, and Daryl cant avoid looking at you any longer. The sight of your genuine smile has been his favourite memory to cling to in that cell, the one view he couldnt wait to see again, even if it was never directed at him after what he’d done. You take the single step necessary to stand toe to toe with him, and you ever so slowly lift your hands to cup his face. Daryl breathes a sigh of relief, his eyes immediately closing as he relaxes into your touch, instinctively, even after all this time.

“How could I ever move on from the man I’d die for?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #x reader #the walking dead #twd #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #Spotify

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